Beauty of the Beast
by Butterfly Heart
Summary: When Matthew finds a bleeding, beautiful Half-Veela in the snow, he knows that taking the stranger with him and offering him help and a shelter could put him in danger.However,he does nevertheless-and causes much trouble./Harry-Potter AU,Franada
1. Prologue

**__**Hello and welcome to this little project of mine! First of all, since I am relatively new to : Do I really need to put this under "Crossover"? Characters of Harry Potter will only be mentioned briefly, but eh,I will let it stay that way unless someone complains. So, this is a **Franada** in the **Harry Potter world around 1970** when **Voldemort is slowly gaining power** in Great Britain. Half-breeds are not very gladly seen; in fact, there are several facts forbidding Half-breeds to attend magical schools and several other things, more in the story.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> These beautiful characters are all owned by either Hidekaz Himaruya or JK Rowling. If they want me to keep them, though, I won't say no.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Franada  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Racism, blood (in this prologue and also later), sexual content between two male persons and I think that's it!  
>Enjoy! ^_^<p>

_**/**_

_**The End.**_

Matthew Williams knew the stories. Born as one of the two sons of Arthur Kirkland, a man harsh and loving and knowing like the sea, he knew the stories about enchanting men and women so beautiful that humans would die for them without batting an eyelash. He knew the stories about witches mingling with creatures from category XXXX, vampires, werewolves, Veelas, giants, merpeople, all the like. He knew the stories about men falling in love with pale women, getting drowned by mermaids. He had heard them every evening when Arthur had put him and his brother Alfred to bed, waiting for a pale woman grabbing him with long, red fingernails and a soft voice to take him with her.

Arthur had been a good, loving father, but not the most gentle and pedagogical one.

The stories were the reason he got wary when he was hunting in the deep, dark forest behind his little house on the edge of civilization and the almost deafening silence of a winter wonderland got cut off by hasty steps not far away from him though out of sight, apparently from a running person since he had never heard an animal making hard, gasping breathing noises, noisily crashing through the tree lines as if scared to death. He was wary but that didn't keep him from leaving his hidden position between the snow-covered bushes and somehow he was thankful for having an excuse to move around since he had spent hours upon hours on waiting, calm and without a single move. He followed the noises and soon discovered a trail of footsteps- human, dotted with a strange liquid in a color almost a dark, rusty red, but even more the color of a plum. Matthew kneeled down and dipped one finger in it, licking it briefly and his eyes widened in surprise when he discovered that it was blood. He knew that whatever waited on the end of this trail would be no human despite its appearance- but the creature was obviously hurt and he hesitated. A pained, almost hawk-like cry made up his mind and he hastily followed the footsteps with his raised wand. It only took a few steps until he discovered a figure huddled together in a shivering, pained heap on the snowy ground, freezing and bleeding and cursing softly in a language Matthew knew very well.

"Ah, merde," The creature said softly and then lifted its head to stare directly into Matthew's eyes.

He was beautiful.

He was a Veela, Matthew was almost completely sure of it, even though probably not entirely Veela, which made the whole situation only worse for it gave him a strong jaw with a light, blonde stubble on the chin, combined with pale skin, high cheek bones and eyes as blue as a frozen lake, whirling with grey. His lips were smooth, the lower one surprisingly full, yet still he remained manly even though his hair fell in unruly, golden waves over his shoulder blades, partly covering his face. Matthew couldn't see more of his body, only that his neck was long and ended in decently broad shoulders. There were slim, long-fingered hands with milky-white claws peeking out from the sleeves of his black velvet cloak and he bled, and he bled, dark stains coloring the floor beneath him, causing another pained noise as he stared right at Matthew, so intently that he couldn't have looked away even if he wanted to.

"Will you hurt me?" He asked with a thick accent- _French_, Matthew thought and couldn't breathe for a moment- and it sounded tired, although his lips twitched up into a sad smile, revealing the edge of sharp, snow-white teeth. He was still shaking and Matthew almost instinctively pointed his wand at him and cast a warming spell. There was surprise in those blue eyes before the sad smile got warm and grateful.

"May I help you?" Matthew asked and cursed at himself, for his voice was almost inaudibly against the wind and the loud breathing of the Veela- and his heart stopped for a moment when he smiled, and smiled, and smiled, reaching out with one of his beautiful hands to him.

"Please," He said softly and Matthew knew he probably _shouldn't _and that Veelas were _dangerous_, but he couldn't resist.

**_/_**

**__**I'd really like some comments on this one. Thoughts? Suggestions? Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

Is-is this real life or is this just fantasy? Oh my, I never thought I would have so many reviews and favs in just a couple of days, thank you so much, I am really happy so many people seem to enjoy this / Which is why I already post the first chapter! I intended to post it on the weekend, but...ah,well, I was impatient and thought that maybe my readers would enjoy it :3 Please tell me whenever you find any mistake, though, I am really keen on keeping this as flawless as possible! Maybe I should look for a beta reader...But there haven't been any complaints so far, so we'll see.^^  
><strong>RenaHana<strong>: Thank you so much for your review! The first review to a story is always something special for an author, just like the opening waltz of a prom n_n  
>And now (hopefully) enjoy! :D<p>

EDIT: Changed the paragraphs and added the necessary accents. n_n

* * *

><p><em><strong>First Chapter<strong>_

Matthew had to support the Veela heavily when they made their way to his house. It was a little blockhouse he had built himself, with his own bare hands and sweat and dedication and only a little bit of magic, and he was secretly very proud of it. It had a decent vegetable garden in the backyard, protected by strong spells and a wooden fence, and there was a huge willow in front of the house, its long rods now covered in snow.

The Veela in his arms moaned softly and pained when he helped him over the doorstep into the living room. It was a nice, clean room, the biggest in the house, with a blank, polished, light wooden floor and a thick white bear rug in front of the fireplace made out of grey stone. There were a few book shelves bursting with books and a comfy, worn couch in a dark red, a black, scratched coffee table in front of it. There was a window with thick, red curtains he had bound back with two black cords and he could see the Veela's eyes gaze swiftly over it when he helped him onto the sofa.

"Lie down," He said, his voice too quiet again and he cleared his throat before he spoke again. "First, I need to-to have a look at your injuries, would you mind to-"

"There will be blood on the couch if I lie down," The Veela pointed out and looked almost hesitantly at him with his bright blue eyes while clutching his side.

"It's fine," Matthew said and smiled reassuringly. He just hoped that he didn't look too much like an idiot. "It's old anyways, but you don't have to…I just thought that it would probably be more comfortable." He paused and, after a minute of hesitation, brought up his hands to gently open the first button of the Veela's coat.

"Ah, chéri, so intent on undressing me already?" The man winked and Matthew felt his cheeks heating up as he quickly let go of him and stammered: "Ah, n-no, I just wanted to—I didn't want do-"

"It's fine," The Veela said and a fine crease appeared between his elegant brows. "I was just joking, chéri, don't be so upset."

"Matthew," Matthew croaked and now _really _felt like an idiot, but he was a man and he couldn't possibly concentrate on being intelligent, polite and not being overwhelmed by the Veela's charme and fuck him right there and then into the couch. He inhaled deeply and reached out for his buttons again to open his cloak. "I'm Matthew."

"My name is François," The Veela said just as the cloak fell away and revealed his clothes underneath. They were surprisingly colourful, his shirt a vivid shade of blue and his trousers a passionate Bordeaux-red and it fitted him so well that Matthew almost smiled, but then he took a closer look. Both was soaked in blood and Matthew sighed a little sadly because François wore only the finest fabrics, that he could see, even though his shirt was in tatters on one side and everything was dotted with his plum-red blood. There was an ugly wound stretched over his rips, right to his hip, and Matthew nearly got sick when he discovered the white of one of his rips shimmering through.

"Oh," He said softly and bit his lip. "That looks awful."

François smiled, but it seemed twisted and melancholic. "It happens when you are different. People run around and say you are a monster because of things you cannot control."

"Who-" Matthew stopped and took his time to fetch a bowl of water and a cloth to kneel down in front of the Veela before he started to gently clean the wound. "Who did this to you?"

"Villagers." François whimpered softly at his touch and started to hum slightly as if to comfort himself. "I am a half-breed," He said after a moment, "Girls are overly attracted to me nevertheless, not that I don't like it, but I only need to walk on the streets and they are after me. I don't do most of these things willingly, it just happens. Most people don't seem to understand this."

Matthew didn't know what to say, so he settled for grabbing his wand and starting to recite a spell to at least stop the bleeding. He did a fairly good job in stitching it up with a light, golden string he produced out of his wand; however, he couldn't to anything to avoid the grunts and pained noises escaping from François' lips. He also noticed that the Veela was still shivering, his limbs trembling from cold and he wasn't surprised when François reached for his cloak as soon as he was finished with wrapping white gauze around the wound and huddled into it. Matthew sighed a bit and set the wood in the fireplace in fire, listening at the merry cracking flames and thus slowly calming down.

"You can-you can stay until you are healthy, if you want," He offered and bit his lips again, not being able to hold eye contact when François' blue eyes pierced through him.

"That would be very nice," He said slowly and softly, shifting a bit and stretching his legs. Matthew tried not to ogle like a pervert; he blushed instead and stared at the wall, wondering about his rapidly beating heart. "I don't know if they know where I live at, but I would be glad if I could avoid the risk of being murdered. I like being alive."

"You're beautiful," Matthew blurted out and nearly smacked himself. _How eloquent, Matthew_, he silently told himself, and tried to make it up under François' amused stare with a stammered: "I mean-you know that, of course, and you surely think it's only because of the-the Veela thing, but it's not, in fact you would be as nice looking if you were a human, not that you're nice, you're gorgeous-I mean-"

"I am a half-breed, so I _am _human, at least partly, mon cher" François said quietly and even more amused and Matthew didn't know what to make out of that, so he weakly decided to just _shut the fuck up and stop blabbering in Idiot._ "But merci, you are very, how is it called, cute."

"I like French," Matthew said before he could stop himself and reddened even further when he realized the double-meaning of what he had just said and Francois tossed his head back and laughed, revealing the elegant line of his throat. Matthew followed it with hungry eyes and desire and swallowed lightly.

"I'm sure you do, cheri," He said with a playful wink and sighed contentedly. "It's warm."

"I, uhm, there is a small guest room upstairs. You can use it if you want, it would be no problem."

"Can I stay here?" François asked and gestured to the couch he was sitting on. "It's so nice and warm here."

"Oh! Well, sure, if it's not uncomfortable for you…"

"I can assure you, I am perfectly fine," François said with a smile, revealing pearly-white, slightly beaked teeth. "Merci beaucoup."

"No problem," Matthew answered and hesitated a bit before he fetched a thick blanket and a long, stretched shirt of himself. He had noticed that François was an inch or two smaller than him and so he hoped that it would suit him. Both was handed over to the Veela who thanked him with a stunning smile, even though he sighed a little at the sight of the old, worn shirt. Matthew asked him if he was hungry, but he only got a negative answer and a soft, charming "Bonne nuit, Mathieu, sleep well" that made his throat go dry.

"Good night," He answered weakly and almost fled upstairs when François started to unbutton his trousers.

Matthew had the slight feeling that a hard time was laying ahead of him.


	3. Chapter 2

Oh my, thank you all so much for continuing to support this fanfiction, it means a lot to me!  
><strong>Witchdoctr<strong>: Thanks a lot, I edited the paragraphs now :) Don't worry, I don't mind when reviews are anonymous, reviews are reviews and I love them all, especially when they contain constructive critic!  
><strong>c<strong>: Thanks a lot, your comment made me really happy n_n  
>And now (hopefully) enjoy! :)<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Second Chapter<strong>_

The first word Matthew Williams uttered to himself the following morning was a hearty "fuck" because a) he was hard due to the fact that he had a very, _very _nice dream involving a certain Veela, tons of whipped cream and a strawberry, b) said Veela currently slept on his sofa which didn't exactly make it easier to get less aroused and c) his pet bear, tiny and white as snow but with a hunger that matched his brother Alfred's, kept poking him into the rips and murmuring an almost pained "Food. Foooooood.". At least c) wasn't something he wasn't used to and so he groggily decided to take a shower first- cold, colder than usual even to get rid of problem a)-, got up and padded into the bathroom while discarding the sleep sweater and boxers he always wore at night. Thankfully, his bear didn't follow him but chose to leave the bedroom in a pace that even a snail could have trumped.

The shower was successful in solving problem a) and also almost freezing his balls off, so he dressed a little quicker than usual and relished for a moment in the warmth of his most favorite, red Hoodie, plain, reliable jeans and thick, black, woolen socks. A quick shave to get rid of the designer stubble he unfortunately always grew over night followed, finished with a quick brush of his teeth and a hasty combing of his hair.

Matthew went down the stairs while humming the melody of an old tune Arthur once had sung to him and Alfred when they were children and stopped dead when he discovered François still laying on the sofa, hidden beneath several blankets he apparently had gathered together from all over the living room. Cautiously, he neared himself the Half-breed and kneeled down in front of him, hesitated a long while and swallowed hard before he finally extended a hand and let his fingertips ghost over François' beautiful, blonde hair. However, he shied back when François let out a groan and his face appeared from under the blankets, looking worn-out and tired, his eyes swollen and his face deadly pale.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said quietly and tried down to calm his racing heart because even though François looked _horrible_, he still somehow managed to be beautiful, even though Matthew couldn't decide whether he should be spellbound or worried. "I didn't want to wake you, but-well, you don't look very well, how do you feel?"

"You didn't wake me, chéri, that bear of yours already did," François said and Matthew swallowed again after hearing his voice being rough and thick from sleep. He realized that it probably wasn't only because of the sleep when François coughed slightly and huddled deeper into the blankets. "How come it talks?"

"Kuma got enchanted by my twin brother Alfred when we were kids," Matthew explained and put a hand on François' forehead to frown in concern when he felt how hot it was. "We never found out how to cure the spell and I don't mind anymore. I think you got a fever."

"I think I am dying," François said and looked so miserable that Matthew couldn't suppress a fond, small laughter and immediately automatically apologized for it.

"You won't," He said with an assuring smile. "I will make you some tea now and a good, strong broth later and take good care of you, don't worry."

François smiled at him. "Oh, I am sure you will, chéri. But first I'd like to take a bath, I feel grimy, this won't do!"

Matthew sighed. "Alright," He then said gently, "I'll make breakfast and then you can take a bath, how about that?"

"That's fine, merci, do you need help, chéri?"

Oh, the tone he said those words with! Matthew felt his cheeks redden and murmured a quiet "No, thank you" to hush into the kitchen as fast as possible. He took his time with preparing Kumili's food and putting a kettle of tea on the stove while watching his animal friend with a fond smile. They had been together since Matthew's early childhood when they had found each other in the snow, a sad little boy and an abandoned bear cub. Matthew remembered how astonished Arthur had been when he had found them curled together instead of Matthew's head having been bitten off, so astonished that he had given in to Matthew's soft pleas and taken the baby bear with them. As if he had heard his thoughts, Kumajesus lifted his head and watched him with big, black eyes.

"Hey," He addressed Matthew and padded to him to get scratched behind the ears. "Who?"

"Matthew," Matthew said automatically, then he realized that one of Kuma's paws gestured towards the kitchen door. "Oh, you mean him?"

The bear nodded. "Well, I found him! His name is François and he is going to stay with us for a little while, are you fine with that?"

"Hurt," Kumi said after a moment of consideration. "Warm here. Food. Fran stays."

"Eh, that's nice of you," Matthew laughed and turned around to put the now whistling kettle off the stove and hurried to take some bread, butter and marmalade out of the storage room, placing it on two plates before he poured the tea in two cups and left the kitchen to place everything on a tray on the wooden coffee table in front of the sofa. "Breakfast is ready, François."

"Oh!" François said and sat up, still huddled into the blankets. He sighed when he noticed the teakettle. "No coffee?"

"Tea is better for your health," Matthew explained with a little smile and handed him over a cup. François sighed, but he placed his hand gratefully around the warm porcelain and eyed the assortment of butter and marmalade with a note of interest. "Is this orange?"  
>"Ah, yes," Matthew answered watched with almost horrified amazement as François grabbed the marmalade glass and a spoon and dumped it into it to lick off the marmalade. Matthew tried not to stare at his tongue lavishing the spoon in an almost lewd manner and instead cleared his throat. "D-Don't you want some bread too?"<p>

"Ah, non, merci, this is fine, chéri," François twittered and continued to _lick_. Matthew clamped his hands around his cup, took a big gulp and tried to distract himself by ascending the wood in the fireplace again and swinging his wand to clean the living room. François watched him with a small smile and interested eyes, still sucking on the spoon and sighing longingly. "I remember the comfortableness of a wand," He said thoughtfully. "It doesn't make you tired and channeling your power is so much easier."

"You don't have a wand?" Matthew asked with considerable surprise while buttering himself a piece of bread and taking a bite. François smiled bitterly and shook his head.

"Wands are something for wizards, Mathieu," He explained and sighed. "Mine was broken into pieces when it was discovered what I was in my first year at Beauxbatons. Half-breeds are not considered to be responsible and worthy enough to carry a wand. It is such a shame, really, Beauxbatons once was proud of the Veela blood it contained, there were so many pretty girls!"

"I can imagine," Matthew responded and sighed too, finishing up his breakfast and watching François placing the spoon unceremoniously on the tray and lightly humming to himself. "I will prepare a bath for you, okay?"

"That would be nice, merci," François said and looked up to send him a thoughtful, inquiring gaze from under long, light eyelashes that made Matthew squirm with embarrassment and leave the living room to storm up the stairs into the bathroom. The bathtub, separated from the shower and rarely ever used by him since he usually preferred to shower, was big enough to contain three people if needed since he had magically enhanced the bathroom and so it needed a while to fill it up with water, enough time to let him calm down and stop his thoughts from wandering to _very bad ideas_.

When the bathtub finally was full, he stood up and wandered downstairs again to help François gently into the bathroom. He noticed the heaviness in François' steps, the way he had to rely almost his entire weight upon Matthew and the relieved sigh that escaped his lips when he settled down on the rim of the bathtub and pulled the nightshirt over his head before Matthew could leave the room. Matthew didn't know whether to stare at the slightly red gauze or François' slim- no, not slim, Matthew corrected himself; he was _thin_ and this wouldn't do, he needed to coddle him up a bit-, pale body with light, golden hair covering his chest and arms, a happy trail starting below his navel, disappearing in the boxers he was still wearing. Whenever he moved, dark shadows appeared under his collarbones and Matthew had to swallow down the desire to lean forward and _lick over it like a beaver over some goddamn maple_. François lifted his head and smiled at him- then he pulled his boxers down with a swift motion.

"I will get you a towel," Matthew murmured and ran out of the room as if fleeing from the devil himself, desperately trying to remain a calm, collected gentleman as his father had taught him and not turn around on his heels, storm back into that goddamn bathroom and _release the sexual needs of four years on the Veela like Albus Dumbledore beating up Grindelwald like a motherfucking boss. _

He never was more disappointed than when he succeeded in doing so.


	4. Chapter 3

__Ahoy, my dears! Welcome back to another chapter! Thank you so much for your reviews and faves, I was really happy to see how well-liked this story is :D

Now please enjoy the next chapter :3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Third Chapter<strong>_

Living together with a Veela, or at least with François, was not that easy, Matthew discovered when the days passed by. Although he healed quite well and made himself rather comfortable at Matthew's house, there were still some things they needed to work out.

For example the issue of food- if Matthew hadn't noticed that François never touched any of the meat coming with his meals, he would have probably never found out that the Veela wasn't used to eat meat, or, to say it with François' own words, "only the very young ones, the untouched, mon cher". It made things more difficult since finding vegetables and all the likes was a bit impossible when everything was frozen and snow-covered and he couldn't possibly shoot only _"the untouched, mon cher"_ and he wasn't keen on killing pups either. So the only way out to feed François was Matthew's vegetable garden, fortunately graced with several spells and a construct made of glass and wood he had once seen in the garden of a Muggle couple and found quite impressing to keep him from being harmed by snowfall and cold, the soil as fertile as it was in the other seasons. It was nice to spend some time with François in the garden since it turned out that the Half-breed was quite good with plants, even though he complained every time he had to work his hands through the soft, brown earth since the dirt naturally tended to get stuck under his claws. A bit guilty about this fact, even if he didn't know why _exactly _he felt guilty, Matthew made it up to him by picking out every single crumb of dirt and filing the claws while obediently listening to François' complaining, mostly enjoying the eloquent, highly intelligent speeches François gave him, talking on and on and on about philosophy, art and everything else he considered worthy to be talked about. He marveled at how shiny and milky his claws were and didn't even mind that he had to file them every day since they were rapidly growing again because it gave him an excuse to stare at François' beautiful hands, imagining how they would feel on his skin, gliding over his body. Most of the time he had to excuse himself after those File-And-Talk-Sessions, as Matthew so eloquently had named them, to calm down by busying himself with some other tasks. Or showering. Cold.

Then there was Pierre. François cooed at him since he showed up on Matthew's window, tapping against it and apparently searching for François. It was beyond Matthew how Pierre had been able to find them, but he did. The only thing that saved Pierre from being thrown out was the fact that he was a snow-white, fuzzy bird so small that he fitted into François' hand without any problems and Matthew was embarrassingly jealous. He was jealous of the way Pierre sat on François' shoulder and got caressed and kissed _all the fucking time_ while contentedly snuggling himself into François' shirts and laughing mockingly at Matthew. True, he was a bird and even though he was a _clever _bird, Pierre couldn't be blamed for making Matthew jealous. Still, he couldn't avoid gazing at them longingly whenever he found François and his pet snuggling on the couch. More nights than not he spent staring at the ceiling and thought about how it would be to be in Pierre's place. Would François hold him the same, kiss him and let his beautiful, long hands wander over his body? Matthew ached for the chance to pin him down on his bed and just touch him everywhere he wanted to. This surprised him somewhat; he knew that he liked men more than women- in fact, this was one of the reasons he fled from his home as soon as he was able to-, even though he had had an occasional fling with a girl every now and then, but never in his life had he wanted, desired someone as much as François. Maybe it was because he was a Veela and did that pheromones-thing to lure him into his arms, maybe it was because he was naturally charming and Matthew had spent too much time all alone, he didn't know.

What he did know, however, was that he liked François. A Lot. And not only because of his body. He had learned to appreciate his humor and flowery language he always fell into when he was excited. He admired the vibrant liveliness François possessed, the way he always moved as if he was dancing after his wounds had healed up enough to allow him to do so, and how he always did everything with passion, as if it was the only thing he wanted to do right at that moment. François never seemed to have problems with flirting with Matthew, to wink and smile at him until he felt too embarrassed to stay any longer with him in a room without losing everything he had been taught and just press him against the couch and lick, kiss, suck at that wonderful, pale throat. Still, even though François seemed so inviting, Matthew couldn't bring himself to approach him any further than throwing hesitant smiles at him. Who was he to be sure that François didn't only want do be nice since he had helped him and let him stay in his house? So he didn't react in any way; instead he bit his lip until it started to bleed (and François scolded him for treating his lips so badly)and had some very nice encounters with his right hand at night.

**_/_**

François had never stopped being cold and therefore was looking for every source of warmth he could get. Still, to say Matthew was surprised when he heard the door to his bedroom opening with a creaking sound at one night where an extremely nasty snow-storm captured them into the house was a bit of an understatement. He was even more startled when he felt the mattress dipping under added weight before someone nestled into his back, sighing contentedly. Matthew entirely stopped breathing, until a long, slender finger poked into his ribs.

"Mathieu?" François murmured; his breath ghosted over Matthew's neck and caused him to raise hackles. "Since you stopped breathing, I assume you're not asleep? Or are you dead? Mathieu?"

"No," Matthew answered and wondered how he could will away the instant boner François' visit had willed to life. His lungs were happy about breathing again, though. "What are you doing in my bed?"

"I'm cold," François said and huddled even closer with a soft whimper. "The fireplace is not enough to warm me up when there is such a storm in front of the house!"

Matthew wanted to point out that this was not really logical since the strong built of the house protected them effectively, but something prevented him from doing so. His breath hitched when François laid a leg over his hips and scooted even closer to him, burying his face between his shoulder blades. Matthew didn't know what to do, so he tried to lay as still as possible and not even twitch one muscle. Of course, his nose started to itch, so he carefully scratched it. Then his thigh did the same. He cursed inwardly and hesitantly tried to reach down without letting François know. A chuckle stilled him.

"Ah, chéri, I know that move very well," François whispered in his ear, "Do you find me so attractive or are you thinking of someone else? If it is the latter, I am very hurt!"

Matthew instantly flushed deep red and tried to sink into the mattress and just die. "No, I-I didn't-you've got that all wrong, I only tried to scratch my thigh!"

"Ah, of course you did," François said mockingly and chuckled lightly. Matthew felt his smile burning against his neck and swallowed lightly. "Don't you like me, Mathieu?"

"I do like you!" Matthew immediately protested, feeling guilty for leaving François wondering whether he liked him or not. "You're—you're really nice, François," He said lamely and kept silent about all the things he really wanted to say. This was insane. He had known the man for a couple of days- way too little to fall as head over heels with someone as Matthew apparently seemed to be. However, he had not that much of experience with love, so how was he supposed to know? He only knew that he felt anxious and fluttery whenever François was near, his stomach twisting and his hormones very interested in getting François into his bed. Now that he actually _was _in his bed, though, he was completely hopeless considering the content sigh escaping the Veela who was snuggled against his back and he found himself turning around and wrapping his arms around him, his erection fortunately gone for the moment, and pulling him against his chest, hoping to be warm enough to actually keep his guest from being cold.

"Ah, much better," François sighed, put his head against the place where Matthew's heart was rapidly beating, and smiled a little before he closed his eyes, his long, light eyelashes resting on his cheeks, almost invisible in the faint light coming from the slightly glowing ball of light Matthew had summoned to find his way to the bathroom when he needed to. Matthew swallowed again, his throat suddenly being too tight, and watched the back of his head, watched long, blonde hair fanning out on the cushion. There were silvery streaks in it, almost glinting in the pale light, and Matthew stretched out a hand and touched them oh so carefully. It was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his entire life, this Veela laying beside him and breathing softly and evenly.

He fell asleep with his fingers entangled in liquid gold and missed the soft smile François pressed against his chest.


End file.
